Chapter 1

It was six o'clock, the sky above was steadily lighting as daylight drew closer, the clouds that were scattered across the sky suggested rain would soon be pounding the heavily worn pavement of West London. A bike speed across the slabs, its brakes squealing as it stopped abruptly. The paper boy reached into his bag, pulling out the newspaper, he ran quickly across the grass pushing it roughly through the letter box of the house before returning to his bike and heading back in the direction he came. On the other side of the door a hand grasped the paper, its headline read.

Brewers Jealously

London's Cafe owners ask why Taylor Lane's Tearoom is increasing in popularity after changing hands; its doors see hundreds of people weekly, leaving competing shops dormant, many struggling for customers. The rise in popularity has already seen three neighbouring teashops close, several shop owners commenting on the lose of customers to their businesses. One Man remarked 'I was a regular to Janie's for twenty years, spending many a rainy night sat in their doors, only now I've discovered Taylor Lane's Tearoom and like many, I have become fond of it, I can't pin point what it is about the place, I just find myself returning each day, it gives me a feeling of happiness and I always feel welcome, something I haven't experienced for years. I mean don't get me wrong the other places are nice, but this is just something else.'

Sherlock sat stiffly in his chair, eagerly awaiting Johns return boredom had struck the intellectual man and sadly (for him at least) the highlight of his day was his flatmates return from where ever he had been each day. Today John had been out with Sarah, his utterly boring love interest. Sherlock failed to see what was so dazzling about her, considering himself somewhat more satisfying company, what with his wealth of knowledge, he thought himself to be a lot like God in some ways and what a privilege to spend the afternoon with 'God' it would be. Unfortunately, it was an offer John had declined.

The room in which Sherlock was situated was cluttered with various objects, some of which held such an Oder, John frequently felt the need to vomit, something which he had realised soon after moving in had to be suppressed if living with Sherlock was going to become a permanent arrangement.

John had gradually succumbed to Sherlock's way of life... and his manor, which could be said to be an acquired taste, never the less it was an arrangement which seemed to suit the pair and had therefore stuck.

Today Sherlock had gathered together a collection of rubber ducks all awaiting John's return at the foot of the door. This one of Sherlock's more laid back tricks. Today, the man was clearly in a good mood. When Sherlock was in a bad mood you could expect to find anything from eye balls to toes scattered around the flat.

A grin spread across his face as he heard the creaking steps, John had arrived home. Slowly, the door opened, John's foot hung in mid air for a few, brief seconds before landing heavily on top of one of the ducks, it squeaked in protest.

'Sherlock' Dr. Watsons voice rang out as he yelled his companions name.

Sherlock smiled his wind ups never grew old, always achieving the desired effect.

'Yes' he responded, cheerily.

'Pick up the ducks.' John groaned, bitterly.

'Why?' Sherlock questioned, he was going to drag this on for as long as possible.

John shook his head, hung his coat up and headed over to the kettle to make a drink; he wasn't going to play Sherlock's game today.

Like a small child Sherlock leapt up from his chair 'Somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, or should I say Sarah's bed this morning.' He added

'How did you...?' John dropped the end of his sentence, realising who he was talking to; Sherlock Holmes was bond to know that he hadn't returned home the previous night, Sherlock Holmes new everything.

'Well, your clothes are crumpled slightly, meaning they were slung down in a hurry, your shirt has a stain on it and normally you would put it straight in the wash. More obviously, your wearing the exact same underpants as you wore yesterday.' He answered.

'More obviously...' John stated, rather than questioned, confused.

'Your thinking how do I know what underpants you were wearing yesterday, well you got dressed in a rush because you were running late for your date.' He paused to wolf whistle enthusiastically, John rolled his eyes. 'You ironed your jeans in an attempt to look attractive for Sarah, leaving them folded on the chair, you went to get dressed only to realise they were in here and not in your room, you had no choice but to come and get them back, I was sat in my usual place reading an Agatha Christie novel, when you graced me with your presence, the image of you in your underwear scared me and was therefore imprinted into my memory permantly, therefore I can now recall what underwear you were wearing.'

'But how do you know what underwear I am wearing now?' John asked.

'Now, that was more simple, I merely looked down, noticing your open flies and thus could see you were wearing the same underwear you wore yesterday and quite frankly if you had been here and had gone out in the same underwear today that your wore yesterday it would be really unsanitary and I would be suggesting you change them as you could contract all manor of diseases, but seeing as you have a valid reason I won't go into that right now.' Sherlock winked at John

'Anyway how was your date with Sarah?' Sherlock sensed the conversation needed to change.

John was reluctant to say anything, although things had gone well last night... really well, things this morning had taken a turn for the worse. Sarah was silent and after grabbing something to eat John had made his way back to 221B Baker Street, anxious of a grilling from Sherlock.

'I see' Sherlock observed.

'What do you see?' John questioned, the kettle pinged as the water had boiled, John reached over and poured hot water into his cup.

'Oh nothing really' Sherlock began, teasing John.

Below the door swung open Mrs. Hudson walked in wearing bright pink shoes and a coat. Her hat-also pink-had a feather pointing out from the top, it drooped slightly, suggesting it was windy outside. She hung her coat and hat up, slipped her shoes of and collected the post and newspaper from the letterbox. She leafed through the letters quickly before dividing them into two piles, the second pile she picked up, along with the newspaper and walked up the stairs to deliver the letters. Sherlock, although a self confessed genius was hopeless at collecting his post, meaning that unless Mrs. Hudson took it to him, his bills never got paid. Before she reached the top step Sherlock had flung the door open, his arms outstretched to embrace her, he liked to keep Mrs. Hudson on side.

'Mrs. Hudson' he beamed. 'What a wonderful day it is,' he added.

'Why, yes Sherlock it is' She agreed. 'Now here is your post' she said, passing it along with his newspaper. She glimpsed the headline. 'Oh yes, Sherlock.' She added 'You must visit this tearoom.' She pointed to the article on the front page as if her point wasn't clear enough. 'It's simply wonder fall, I've just returned from their myself.' She told him.

Sherlock's eyes were raised in curiosity. 'Really?' He said, as if to ask a question, only really he didn't want an answer. Mrs. Hudson opened her mouth to reply but Sherlock shut the door before she could get the words out.

She turned around to head back down the stairs. 'Strange man' she muttered to herself as she went.

Well that's chapter 1 it will take a bit to get up but trust me keep with it. Hope you like it and please review.

That's not my name 303